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deadpatrol · 2 years

Note

8!!

Title: Orphan Obliterator

Tags: Phil & Techno, Techno & Tommy, AU - Canon Divergence, Found Family, Families of Choice, SBI family, fix it, fluff, crack treated seriously, Technoblade adopts Tommy, thats it thats the fic

Summary: Technoblade’s title, Orphan Obliterator, is a poor translation. In Piglin culture, the title is only given to those who take on the orphan farrows of the hoard as their own. A fact which Tommy only discovers after it’s too late and Technoblade is furiously trying to adopt him.

Obliterate: (transitive verb) to remove from existence; destroy utterly all trace, indication, or significance of

MORE: [3] / [4] / [5] / [7] / [8] / [11]

Even as king of the Antarctic Empire, Technoblade still finds himself hounded by the prejudice of Overworlders. He had hoped that social opinion would change after he and Phil established themselves as rulers here. With a Nether Mob and an Overworlder together on the throne, leading an empire as one, he had foolishly assumed that people would have no choice but to look upon his kin as equals. Of course, things are changing, but progress never came swiftly. Slowly but surely, acceptance for Nether Mobs and other non-Overworlders is taking root, but social reform takes time. A war such as this can’t be won in just one battle.

Although, Technoblade can’t truthfully claim he dislikes the way crowds cower and split like water when he walks the busy market streets. The whispers of fear and awe that reach his ears as the empire’s people pass around stories of his bloody victories make him huff and swell with pride. But every time he enters a diplomatic meeting and presents his full title, he sees the way the Overworlder’s expressions harden with repulsion and he is overcome with a particularly vicious kind of rage.

“Tech,” Phil sighs, wiping his sword clean with his Antarctic robes, leaving a smear of red stains across the pale blue fabric. “We can’t keep murdering all our potential trading partners.”

“I’ll stop killin’ them when they stop deservin’ it,” Technoblade responds, ear flicking in annoyance. “Not like we needed ‘em anyway. Thirty-two emeralds? I can singlehandedly farm double the crops for half that price.”

Phil laughs, the bright and fond kind that shakes his shoulders and flutters his dark wings. “Alright, mate. Whatever you say.”

Would it be easier to simply leave his more controversial title out of political introductions? Absolutely. It’s not like he has any lack of impressive-sounding titles to fill the space. He’s earned a whole collection of them over the years: Blood God, Ruler of the Antarctic Empire, World Conqueror — none of which seem to receive the same vehement reaction as his first and most treasured title.

However, Technoblade is nothing if not built of pride and spite. Rather than quietly leave it out, Technoblade spends the next several days in the armory basement over an anvil inscribing the title onto every single blade he owns.

Technoblade refuses to let anyone shame him for his title or the recognition of the deed it represents. He doesn’t understand why Overworlders hate Orphan Obliterator in particular so much. It’s a mystery to him how anyone could be against taking in orphaned children, destroying the significance of being orphaned, but it’s never been said that bigotry is based in good sense.

So many years later, Technoblade still vividly recalls the way he earned the title. The memory doesn’t start pretty. He was gathering mushrooms in a crimson forest when he found them. Craters gouged into the trees and ground with explosive force. Tiny tufts of wool caught on the ragged edges of blast marks. An entire sounder of piglins left nothing more than smears of blood, hardly distinguishable from the russet netherrack beneath his hooves. A pit, dug two blocks deep and two blocks wide. A farrow of baby piglins huddled inside.

This sort of loss wasn’t uncommon. But that didn’t make it any less of a tragedy.

The baby piglins were skittish and violent. When he approached, the four of them packed themselves into the far corner, making themselves as small as possible. When he got too close, they didn’t hesitate to lunge at him with a flash of small tusks and furious squealing. He emptied his inventory of half a stack of shiny gold nuggets before they trusted him enough to let him near.

The hard part was convincing the baby piglins to follow him home. Everything else came easy.

When they finally reached the bastion remnant where Technoblade’s sounder resided, they took to the place like they ruled it. Their wild, childish energy was well spent racing up and down the stairs, exploring every inch of the blackstone structure. Getting them to sit still again proved to be a challenge. Their attention caught on the horde of gold blocks in the treasure room, but the lustrous sheen of gold only held them in place long enough to get a single bowl of mushroom stew in them before they raced off again.

Once their energy finally crashed, the four baby piglins slept for hours huddled together in the warm glow of the lava pools. Technoblade found himself caught in the middle of their pile, trapped by the small forms sprawled and curled across his lap. He didn’t dare move for fear of waking them. Not that he would have gone anywhere if given the opportunity, plagued as he was by a worry of something terrible happening to them.

One of the sounder’s elders would later tell him this was normal for first time parents.

The sounder raised them together, of course. All baby piglins are raised by the community. No one expected Technoblade to raise them on his own, hardly more than a juvenile himself and with no parental title to speak of. The four of them were adored by all in the sounder, but there was only one person they came to when they won their first spar, killed their first hunt, forged their first gold.

Every time Technoblade heard the clatter of small hooves against blackstone, he found a grin forming on his face and a snort of fond greeting rattling his chest. He couldn’t be more proud of seeing what they would grow up to become, each a stronger fighter, a wiser tactician, and an ally more loyal than the last.

It felt like hardly any time passed at all before he couldn’t call them farrows anymore. They had all grown up, each a strong member of the sounder that he was proud to call sounder.

Not even the day after their adulthood celebration, they presented him with the title. They hadn’t even left the podium when they dragged him out from the crowd of the sounder and up to stand with them in the soft light of the glowstone platform. Technoblade cast a questioning glance to the elder at the head of the crowd and received no answer but a knowing smirk in response.

The four of them squealed like the children they no longer were, dancing around one another in their excitement. One of them tugged playfully on his ear, distracting him just long enough for the tallest to reach up and place something on his head. Only then did they fall into a rare moment of stillness, watching him expectantly. Technoblade gingerly raised a hand to the mystery object, feeling the shape of spiked prongs and the smooth texture of well-forged gold. A crown.

In front of all the sounder they had come to call their own, they presented him with a crown and a title. Technoblade, Orphan Obliterator.

The sounder bellowed in celebration and scuffed their gold boots against the bastion’s blackstone floor. The children, now grown, pulled him into their arms and refused to let him go.

If any in the sounder, years down the line, would retell the story to future farrows and claim that he cried, they would certainly be lying. Or at least, that’s what Technoblade would argue with a flush of embarrassment staining his cheeks.

In the freezing Antarctic, far from the warm glow of the Nether’s lava pools, Technoblade wears his crown with devotion and bears each of his swords unrepentantly engraved with the title he is proudest of. If overworlders have an issue with that, that’s their problem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The click of tiny hooves on blackstone sounds nothing like worn sneakers on creaky floorboards, but they might as well be the same for the feeling they evoke in Technoblade’s chest.

From the very moment he arrived, Tommy hadn’t hesitated to storm through the cabin like he owned the place — immediately proceeding to insist that he does, in fact, own the place. Loudly and repeatedly.

The kid claimed residency by sheer force of will and incredibly annoying persistence, and there’s hardly been a moment of quiet in the small, snowy cabin since. Even now, there’s a constant stream of muttering floating down the attic ladder to reach Technoblade’s ears. The kid seems to never stop talking, even if just to himself.

Technoblade’s eyes reach the bottom of the page and he realizes that he hasn’t read a word. His ear flicks in annoyance as he realizes he’s been distracted by listening in to the muffled ruckus coming from upstairs. He huffs and returns his attention to the top of the page once more, trying to enjoy the relative peace while it lasts.

Chests creak open and closed. The kid screeches and his rapid speech picks up an impossible pace. There’s a thud as a tiny body jumps from a high shelf to the floor, or maybe a furnace. A series of thumps and crashes rattle against the floorboards, a rhythmic pattern broken by quick missteps. Maybe parkour, maybe dancing.

It’s a strange sort of comfort. As long as he can hear Tommy shuffling around and muttering to himself, then he can be sure Tommy is alive and safe. If there’s one thing to be certain of, the kid doesn’t hesitate to scream when he’s in actual danger. Or even when he’s not.

A month ago, Technoblade would have claimed that Philza was the only person he could bear to be around for more than a day without resorting to violence. Phil is quiet. Phil doesn’t touch his things without asking. Phil doesn’t get hung up on committing some minor terrorism. Phil is strong enough to take care of himself. Phil doesn’t take unnecessary risks. Technoblade likes Phil because Phil is easy. It doesn’t take much to make the man safe and happy.

Tommy steals everything within arms reach and then climbs a shelf to reach the rest, tearing through stockpiles of gapples and potions faster than Technoblade can replenish them. He’s constantly throwing himself into danger with open arms. He’s loud, and annoying, and inconsiderate. Worst of all, he makes it very difficult for Technoblade to keep him safe and happy.

Tommy is everything Phil isn’t. Honestly, Technoblade doesn’t understand how they are related.

There’s a resounding crash from upstairs that rattles all of the windows in their frames. The sound startles Technoblade badly enough that he drops the book he hasn’t been reading. Without stopping for a single beat, the chaos continues. Technoblade doesn’t even get to begin to worry.

“I’m okay! Don’t come up! Don’t come up!” Tommy screeches, followed by a burst of laughter. “Oh shit, oh shit.”

“Tommy. What are you doing?” Technoblade shouts back, bringing a hand up to rub at the headache forming along the bridge between his eyes.

“I’m puttin’ it back, I swear!” Tommy assures, and Technoblade doesn’t feel reassured in the slightest.

Technoblade stands, dog-earing the very same page he was on when he picked the book up before placing it back on the shelf. Clearly he’s not getting any reading done today, so he might as well start cooking dinner. The shuffling upstairs continues, joined by the distinct clatter of item frames.

Technoblade leans under the ladder hole before he shouts up, “You better not have ruined another poster!”

The shuffling stops and he is only met with incriminating silence.

Technoblade sighs.

Tommy answers a beat too late to come off anything other than guilty. “So what if I did? No one wants to see your ugly face anyways!”

Technoblade elects not to respond to that. Instead, he crosses the room to the cabin’s make-shift kitchen. It’s a tiny thing, squeezed into the corner of the room between a clutter of potion brewing stands and a wall of chests stacked to the ceiling. While Technoblade would be just as content to eat nothing but furnace-cooked potatoes for the rest of his life, something about having Tommy in his house and not feeding him better just feels… wrong. The kid is thin enough as it is, he needs to build his strength.

There’s a single block of cobblestone inexplicably placed in front of the smoker. Technoblade huffs and pulls a pickaxe from a chest to clear it away without a second thought. Finding random blocks of cobblestone and dirt in inconvenient places has become the norm. Tommy insists it’s not his fault that all of Technoblade’s valuables are stored in the top chests that he can’t reach. Technoblade could only heave a deep sigh and shake his head, turning away to hide his traitorous grin.

Paying no mind to the steady stream of noise continuing upstairs, Technoblade searches through the chests until he finds what he’s looking for. The last time Philza came to visit, he brought a bundle of fresh-caught cod wrapped in wax paper and twine. As Phil shoved the parcel into Technoblade’s arms, he complained about having nothing better to do than fish from his balcony while stuck under house arrest.

Technoblade smiles at the memory. He hopes Philza makes good on his promise to escape L’Manberg and leave the place behind for good sooner rather than later. It would be nice to live in the same house as his old friend again. Not to mention Tommy would probably do well to have his dad around more often. Technoblade is a little concerned about Tommy having been out on his own without a parent for this long already. Although, Tommy did have his older brother Wilbur to look after him up until his death. And after that, well. Things got complicated.

Technoblade lights a fire in the smoker and sets the cod to cook, then he sets about cutting a loaf of bread into slices. There’s still plenty of time before the cod is done, so Techno peruses through the chests for something else to add to the meal and busy his hands with. He lifts the lid of yet another chest and pauses at the sight of a small collection of red and brown mushrooms.

How long has it been since he’s made mushroom stew? Too long, certainly.

Gingerly, he pulls the mushrooms out and begins the simple task of dicing them up. He finds it’s not long before the comforting, repetitive motion lulls him into a pleasant calm. The rest of the world drops away, the only thing that matters is the soft fungus beneath his fingertips and the quiet slide of the knife against the cutting board. When he finally drops the mushroom chunks into a pot and sets it to simmer, he stops for a moment to stand over the broth and simply breathe. The steam is warm against his face and the smell it carries is achingly familiar, immediately reminding him of warm lava pools, blackstone walls, the chitter of ghasts, home.

The peace is broken by a clatter of dishes and silverware. Turning to follow the noise, Technoblade finds Tommy standing at the cabin’s one and only table. The maps, quills, and inkwells that were previously neatly arranged there have been stacked in a haphazard pile, shoved on top of a nearby anvil. Tommy’s frozen in place with his arms full of bowls, plates, and silverware, looking like he’s been caught stealing. Which is strange, considering Technoblade has caught him stealing many times, but never seen him look like that.

Through the fog of serenity in his head, it takes Technoblade longer than he’d like to admit before he realizes that he didn’t even hear Tommy come down the ladder.

Tommy chuckles, the sound quickly dispelling any lingering hesitation the kid might have displayed. “Looked like you were having a moment over there, big man. Hyperfocusing on some potatoes, eh?”

Technoblade only gives a quiet hum in response. He’s not sure how else to respond to that, and he doesn’t feel much like talking anyway. That’s fine enough by Tommy, because the kid proceeds to fill every quiet moment with uninterrupted chatter.

“Came down when I smelled you were cookin’. What is it, anyway? Smells like fish. You know, Wilbur was married to a fish for a while. Never brought her around much, though. Said she was busy, being a salmon, migrating upstream and all that. I think he was just embarrassed. Sometimes he’d come home smelling like fish, though. That’s disgusting, I’d tell him. He’d just call me a child who doesn’t understand love. What a dick. And you don’t even want to know what he was like when he was pregnant. Oh my god. The mood sings, Techno, the mood swings. You would not believe.”

Technoblade watches Tommy as he slowly circles the table, laying out the dishes and cutlery seemingly without order. The rickety thing tilts when he sets a bowl on it, one table leg just barely lifting off the floor. Tommy doesn’t seem to notice though, moving on without a pause in his chatter, rambling on about anything that crosses his mind.

Letting the steady stream of noise wash over him, Technoblade checks the smoker. The cod is finished cooking, so he pulls out a serving plate and deftly transfers the fish onto it. When he turns to move towards the table, he finds Tommy is suddenly by his side. Tommy’s got his hands out, fingers impatiently flexing towards the platter of cod.

Tommy interrupts himself in the middle of another speech about why oak is the best kind of wood and how everyone who disagrees with him is wrong to insist, “Give it here, I got it.”

Technoblade hands the plate off to an inordinately pleased Tommy, a smirk tugging at his own lips. Tommy goes on, switching topics yet again, this time to talk about how Niki makes the best bread, and how much he misses her cakes, and how Techno could make bread for years and never be as good as Niki, unless he made potato bread, maybe, but probably not even then.

Technoblade ladles out two bowls of mushroom stew and carries them carefully to the table.

“Finally!” Tommy cries, snatching up his fork and spoon with enthusiasm as Technoblade takes a seat.

When Tommy stretches across the table to stab a chunk of cod with his fork, Technoblade’s eyes catch on gaunt fingers and wrist bones protruding visibly under ridden up shirt sleeves.

Tommy is thin. Too thin.

Tommy’s gotten better in the month that he’s been living here, filling out more and more with each full meal Technoblade puts in front of him. But the memory of the bruised and starved kid he found living under his basement is still fresh in Technoblade’s mind. He can’t shake the image of hollow cheeks, stark ribs under t-shirts that should have fit, and dark smudges under dull eyes.

It makes the voices in his head more… distracting.

Technoblade remembers the day he first discovered Tommy. He only made the mistake of yelling Tommy’s name once. Never again. Not after the way Tommy flinched and fell abruptly silent, freezing in place except for the way eyes snapped to Technoblade, waiting. Apprehensive. Afraid.

Technoblade left the room without a word after that. He took deep breaths until his vision cleared enough that he could see again, then he made the trek out to his small farm. Each downswing slammed his hoe into the dirt with brutal force, pressed on by a white-knuckled grip and arms that shook with fury.

That awful, ringing silence is burned into his memory. Compared to that, the constant chatter is a welcome balm.

Technoblade is supposedly retired, so rather than take out his emotions with his more usual methods, he channels his fury into cooking. That first night, Technoblade made more food than a single piglin and a malnourished teenager could possibly eat. It didn’t help that Tommy was already full before the meal was finished, stealing bits of food before they had even finished cooking at every opportunity when Technoblade had his back turned. The second night wasn’t much better.

At first, Tommy was weirded out by Technoblade cooking food for him. He very clearly didn’t know how to deal with someone else providing food for him. But within the week it had become something expected. When dinner is even a minute late, Tommy can be counted on to remind Technoblade with endless pestering.

At least once a day now, Tommy will barge into the living room and slump boneless, draping himself across the entire couch and often Technoblade himself. He whines about how hungry he is, how he hasn’t eaten in hours, how he’s starving. Every time Technoblade has to take a moment to hold himself back. He has to very sternly remind himself that Overworlder culture is different. There is no communal parenting here. Trying to parent someone else’s kid is considered a social transgression. Just because his instincts are screaming at him to care for Tommy doesn’t mean Philza would necessarily appreciate Technoblade parenting his kid. Tommy isn’t just some orphan kid up for grabs. He already has a dad.

“Are you going to eat, or what?” Tommy asks, his words muffled through a mouthful of bread.

Technoblade blinks, coming back to himself in the present. He realizes he hasn’t eaten a single bite of the food in front of him.

Technoblade huffs, exasperated by his own distractibility. “Just thinkin’.”

“Clearly. Got big things on your mind?” Tommy asks, gesturing with his spoon and sending a splatter of mushroom stew across the table. “Me too, me too. So many big things. Big plans, you know?”

The table tips on its uneven leg when Tommy puts his elbows on the table. He rests his weight into the rickety thing so he can lean across the length of it to stare intently at Technoblade. It makes Technoblade just a bit uncomfortable to have all of that attention focused on him.

“What’s on your mind, Blade? Tell me.” Tommy makes it sound more like a demand than a question.

“Why isn’t Phil takin’ care of you?” The question spills from Technoblade before he can think better of it.

“Phil?” Tommy asks, his eyebrows screwing up in bewilderment. “Why would the old man give a fuck about what I’m doing?”

Technoblade pauses, his brain scrambling to keep up with this new development. Is this an Overworlder thing? Or has Technoblade severely underestimated his friend’s parenting ability?

Taking a moment to recover, Technoblade speaks slowly, trying to catch up to the conversation. “Because… you’re his kid? That’s how human families work? The parents take care of their kids?”

Technoblade thought Philza was an alright dad, at the very least. Wilbur always spoke highly of him. Does he need to reevaluate his whole perspective of his best friend? Fuck, can he even call a man who neglects kids his best friend?

Tommy bursts out laughing. His bright, startled peals of laughter quickly disintegrate into stuttering as Tommy tries to get words out. “Ph— I— Wh— No! Phil isn’t my dad? What the fuck?!”

“Heeh?” Technoblade scrambles to keep up with the conversational whiplash. “Wilbur said you were his brother!”

“Like!” Tommy screeches, throwing himself backwards onto two legs of his chair with the force of his laughter. “Like a brother! <i>Like,</i> dickhead! We’re not related! Oh my god!”

Tommy’s chair tips dangerously, and Technoblade has to lock all of his muscles to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing the kid before he falls.

“I don’t know!” Technoblade puts his head in his hands, hiding his face. He’s partly embarrassed, partly confused, and mostly struggling to shut his instincts the fuck down. “I always just assumed that Phil had another kid after the whole Antarctic Empire thing!”

Tommy’s chair legs slam back into the floor. Both of Tommy’s hands are pressed to the table now as he leans his weight into the rickety thing, lifting himself half out of his seat. His chest puffs up and he grins.

“I don’t have a family. I raised myself, bitch,” Tommy declares, and he sounds proud.

There’s a beat before the words quickly click into place in Technoblade’s brain.

Technoblade lifts his head out of his hands just enough to peer up at Tommy. “…You’re an orphan?”

Technoblade catches the way Tommy freezes dead in his tracks. The room falls more silent and still than Technoblade ever thought possible.

The voices in Techno’s head clamber louder.

“No.” The denial falls flatly off Tommy’s tongue after a stretch of silence. He sounds utterly sure of himself, like everyone else should believe him too. “I didn’t say that.”

TOMMY

WHAT DID HE SAY

ORPHAN POG

PROTECT

HELP HIM

TOMMY

FREE CHILD POG

UP FOR GRABS

FREER THAN A FREE SAMPLE AT COSTCO

TOMMY

Technoblade looks up fully from his hands. Tommy’s still got his hands on the table, but they’re stiff and frozen in place. His fingers twitch and fidget with repressed movement. Tommy’s eyes flick around, never settling on one thing for more than a second, but always coming back to watch Technoblade warily.

“Tommy,” Technoblade tries again.

Tommy tenses.

Technoblade takes a breath. He gathers every ounce of social skill he’s never had and tries to make his voice sound earnest, but it only comes out flat. “Are you an orphan?”

Technoblade watches Tommy’s eyes flick to the side. Technoblade follows his gaze, and it lands on the front door.

There’s a snap second before Technoblade realizes what is about to happen.

“Tommy, wait—!”

Tommy is already vaulting out of his chair, using his braced hands to launch himself sideways. The force of it sends the table flipping downwards, sending silverware flying into the air. Technoblade immediately steps back and raises his arm to shield himself from the flying dishes. A bowl clatters to the ground, spilling mushroom stew in a splatter all over the floor.

With this new information, Techno’s new and immediate goal and overpowering instinct is to adopt Tommy, regardless of how Tommy himself feels about that prospect.

Techno doesn’t understand why Tommy is so skittish, thinking it’s just because of their past, and Tommy’s trauma, and because that’s just how chaotic Tommy has always been. Tommy fully believes that Techno is going to murder him. Tommy immediately is terrified of Techno and tries to escape him and avoid him at all costs. Techno panics and asks for Phil’s help finding him. Phil and Techno catch Tommy. Tommy screams and fights, thinking Techno is about to murder him.

Tommy: “Don’t fucking touch me! I’ll kill you, you bitch!”

Technoblade very rapidly found himself enamored with Tommy, only somewhat against his will. Technoblade really didn’t want to like Tommy, but of course, he found himself liking the kid anyway.

Techno explains the title. Phil and Tommy are both shocked.

Techno: “Heeh? You thought I murdered so many orphans that I got an award for it?! And you still let me rule an empire?!”

Philza: “I don’t know! Yeah? I guess!”

The only thing Techno wants is for the people he cares about to be safe and happy. Literally nothing else matters. The rest of the world and everything in it can go to hell. This is maybe a result of his being raised in piglin culture.

(Techno doesn’t know what Dream did to Tommy in exile, and Tommy insists that Dream is his friend, but he knows enough to know it was bad. At this point, Tommy still somewhat believes and adamantly insists that Dream is his friend, the only one who visited him in exile, the only one who cared.)

Techno makes Tommy gifts, enchanted swords and armor and things that will keep him safe, and though Tommy steals them before Techno can give them to him.

The discs will make Tommy happy, so Techno gets him those fucking discs. He plays it off as him holding up his end of the deal, Tommy gets his discs and Techno gets to destroy L'Manberg. Techno doesn’t let on that these are both a win-win for Techno because the only reason he wants either of them is because they are in the name of making Tommy safe and happy.

Techno wants to destroy L'Manberg. He knows Tommy has an emotional connection to the place, so he very awkwardly tries to be sensitive and tells Tommy he doesn't have to help. Tommy doesn't want to upset Tubbo or the people of L'Manberg, so Techno tries to keep all the things he does that will upset those people at least semi-away from Tommy. Techno spends a majority of his time hidden away from people, farming, restoring the supplies that have dwindled after a long hibernation and the addition of one thieving, food hoarding raccoon boy to his house. This does not a socially aware person make. He tries his best. But goddamn.

(People only ever want to use Techno for their own ends. They don't give a damn about the things he has to say. They tell him how smart he is when he's helping them, but as soon as he says something that contradicts their ideals, they refuse to listen to reason.)

Tommy goes back to L'Manberg and Tubbo and everyone/everything who ever hurt him, setting himself up for unhappiness and putting himself directly in harm's way and opening his arms in welcome. This makes Techno furious and distraught. Techno’s farrow is in the dangerous place. Instincts Gone Wild.

Doomsday, yada yada yada

Post-resurrection, Tommy ends up back at Techno's house following Ranboo. Tommy arrives expecting bloodshed and yelling and anger if Techno catches him, but there's nothing like that at all. Techno is pretty chill about it, all things considered. Under the surface, Techno is just frantically shoving every instinct into a box and screaming at them to shut up. Tommy does NOT want to be his sounder. That is VERY CLEAR. Overworlder culture is different, and he’s gotta respect that. So STOP TRYING TO FEED TOMMY, DAMNIT.

Tommy is not Techno's kid. The voices in his head insist otherwise.

Suspicious of Techno's lack of anger and apparent grudge, he starts doing things to purposefully push his luck and piss Techno off, trying to find the limit. Techno is uncomfortable with how observant Tommy's being and how close he is to coming across the carefully hidden truth: Techno cares about Tommy. When it comes to people he cares about, he will do anything to make them safe and happy. The care is rare and unwillingly formed, he doesn't choose the people he cares about, and that care never goes away once it's formed. He doesn't like people knowing that, because if they do they could abuse the hell out of it.

Tommy expects to have to fight or prove himself to be allowed to live in Techno's home again after betraying him TWICE (the first time was his only second chance, and Techno won't be so willing to overlook his grudge again, surely), but is warily surprised when Techno lets him in with some surface grumbling but without any real fight. Tommy won’t stop watching him warily. Techno hates it. Tommy realizes that Techno took him in after they betrayed him during the Manberg war, and he's taken him in again now after being betrayed for Tubbo before Doomsday. He wonders if there's anything he could do to get techno to ACTUALLY be mad at him and starts pushing his luck to find out, but is shocked to find that the limit nearly does not exist.

Techno takes off his armor. Techno is always wearing full netherite, he never takes it off. It makes him incredibly uncomfortable and unsafe. But after everything, netherite armor makes Tommy uncomfortable. So away the armor goes.

Techno just lies half on top of Tommy, like a big cat, refusing to move.

Techno and Tommy encounter one of Techno’s kids in the nether: Glowdelta, Magmicedge, Gildedbeast, Warpedforetress.

Ranboo, adoption 2, electric boogaloo

Ranboo expresses to Phil that he’s worried about Techno meeting Michael. Phil laughs and assures Ranboo that Techno is the LAST person he needs to worry about.

#dsmp fic #my writing #unfinished bits #c!Tommy #c!Techno #bedrock bros

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smutsonian · 4 years

Note

ma'am may we have some dark king steve or chris smuts thank ya ma'am

your king

king!steve rogers x reader

warnings: dark!steve rogers, noncon, loss of virginity, violence, multiple deaths, this lowkey scared me, i feel sorry for your cold back :( ,i never do proofreading, my brain farted this fic out soz bout that

word count: 2.2k

an: wat da feuk this is not a fucking drabble also, i tried to use ‘medieval’ words and you could probably tell by reading the first paragraph but that didn’t work out so the ending went wack ratatata also, omg this my first medieval au so go easy on me

masterlist

The snow that used to be a picturesque scenery was now everything but not. The usual sight of white snow blanketing every house in the little town that your family reigned and your people prancing around the crystalline surface of the snow was reshaped into something sinister. The once affable little town turned into an appalling mess of a borough. The white snow was now covered in the crimson liquid that once belonged to the people you considered as friends. The crystalline ice that was once filled with joyous laughter from the younglings was now filled with choking sounds from the bodies that are desperately trying to latch onto dear life as their slit throats paint the clear surface with the color of maroon.

The man who orchestrated the massacre of your family and the people of your town called himself many titles. His face was filled with pride when he introduced himself in front of your family. He called himself King Steve, the King of all kings, Maker of Change, Conqueror of Lands, and the Holder of the Shield. It was a lot of titles and everyone from your town was confused until the proud look on the intruder’s face turned into a sickening grin. Everyone soon discovered what it meant when his men started the attack. Your town is known for being a peaceful area and having peaceful townsfolks, no one the heart or the mastery of wielding a sword so it was only a matter of time before everyone you knew went down. The man who’s called King Steve made your royal family watch as his men slaughtered your people. After your town was filled with nothing but blood and carcasses, King Steve told your father of his plans.

He told your father that he will no longer be the king and your mother will no longer be the queen, however, you were to be his queen. When he then turned to you with a foul smile before making long strides over to you, your father forced himself up from his kneeling position to step in front of you with a protective stance. “You’re not going to touch her.” You never heard your father speak with so much hatred and venom in his voice. King Steve laughed dryly before he raised an eyebrow to your father. “What are you going to do, stop me?”

Your father’s face was filled with determination when he nodded at the man. “Are you certain that you’ll fight me? You can give me your greatest warrior and I can fight him instead.” He then looks around in an exaggerated manner before looking back at your father with a smirk. “Oh, right... All of your people are dead.” He continued on taunting your father until your father’s voice boomed. “I will fight you and in return, you’ll leave my family alone.” Your father never looked mightier than at that moment. The man gave a small laugh before nodding and getting into a fighting stance.

Your mother was looking at your father with fearful eyes, quietly praying for the gods to look after him while you were watching everything unfold in front of you. Your father turned to look at you and your mother before giving both of you a reassuring smile. Everything happened so fast because the moment your father turned back around; the man’s huge hands made its way to your father’s head before snapping it to the side with a loud crack. Your father fell limp on the floor and your mother let out a shrill scream. The man clapped his hands before smiling at your mother. “You should never turn your back on the enemy. A simple rule when it comes to combat.” He shrugged before kicking your father’s body before turning to walk towards you once more.

Your eyes widened in shock when your mother let out a scream as she stood up, running towards the man with a small dagger clasped in her hand. Before she could stab the man’s back, he turned around and held her armed hand and prying it away from her. He held her body against his chest as he looked at you. Your mother looked at you as well, tears continuously falling down her face. ‘I’m sorry’ she mouths before the man plunged the dagger down her chest all the while watching for your reaction. You couldn’t do anything but to watch as the life left your mother’s face and your father lying dead on the floor.

“She’s got more fight in her than your father did, I must admit.” The man wiped the blood on the dagger with your mother’s dress before pocketing it. “Why are you doing this?” It was your first time speaking and it was the first time he heard you speak, thus the smile appeared on his face. “So, the princess does speak. I was worried I’ll have a mute queen by my side.” He walks over to your father, bending down to take the huge robe covered with fur from your father’s body and putting it on. He looked back at you before grinning. “Do I look like a proper king now?”

“You’ll never be a king” You gritted your teeth before spitting on the space in front of his feet. He made a quick move towards you before gripping your face and glaring at you as his nose flared in anger. “I just killed your so-called king. I have killed lots of kings who weren’t strong enough to protect their people. Your father was the easiest to kill. This town was the easiest to conquer, thanks to your father. Your father was no king.” His grip on your face got tighter and your cheeks were starting to hurt. “And you think you’re better than him?” You glared at him. He laughs before letting go of your face. “Oh, princess. I’m better than everyone. I’m the fucking best and you’ll learn that in time.” He steps away from you before whistling out until a number of his men came entering the room. “Take her out of her garments and move her outside.” And with that, he disappeared out the door before his men started manhandling you out of your clothes until you were completely bare and filled humiliation as they carried you out and threw you on the cold surface of the snow.

“Am I in heaven? You look better that way, princess.” The familiar voice made you cover your body with your hands as you looked up at the man who took everything away from you. He was covered with your father’s robe as he stood tall in front of your body. He squatted down until you were face to face. You shivered though you didn’t know if it was because of the closeness of his face or the coldness that was surrounding your bare body. “Is my princess cold?” He tilted his head and cooed at you before opening his arms along with the robe, revealing his naked body under it. Your eyes snapped down at the sight and he only chuckled in response before sighing. “If you don’t want to catch a cold, I suggest you come into your king’s arms.” He smiled at you before frowning when you crawled away from him, ignoring the sting of the cold ground under your body.

In an instant, his body is on top of yours. You flayed under him until he had your hands on either side of your face while his body is in between your legs, cock brushing the inside of your thighs. “You would prefer to die instead of being my queen, is that it?” He leaned down to nip on your right ear before whispering. “Too bad. I’ll make it my mission to protect you and keep you alive. I’ll make you my queen whether you like it or not.” He moves his head down your neck and began sucking on your skin. You wiggled under his hold until you felt his cock rub against your folds earning a moan from him that made you immediately stop your movements.

He grunted before pulling away from your neck. “Don’t stop now, you little tease.” He leaned down, breathing close to your face. He moves his hand down your body, groping your breasts and pinching the tit when you tried to wiggle away. Your back arched at the unfamiliar feeling and he chuckled as he watched your reaction. You watch him as he sucked on his fingers, eyes squinting in question at his actions. “Got to make this little cunt slippery for my big cock.” Your eyes widened as his fingers started playing with your folds until you felt it rubbing your opening. “Don’t do this. You’ve already done enou—” You cut yourself off with a gasp as one of his fingers intruded into your slit. You could feel his finger moving around inside of you as he continued pushing it inside of you. “What are you, a virgin?” He chuckled before biting his bottom lip as he watched your eyes close in discomfort. “Ahh… I should’ve known. Don’t worry, my queen. I’ll make sure you’re wet enough for me.” He added another finger and you grunted at the disagreeable feeling. “Shh.” He cooed before your body jolted when you felt his thumb rubbing against your clit. “You like that?” He laughs at you when you shook your head. “Stubborn little one, aren’t you? No worries…” His rubs got faster and you started to feel light-headed as something started building up inside you, begging to come out only to be stopped when he completely pulled his hands away from your cunt.

“W-what?” You asked dumbly. “You almost came on my fingers, princess. We can’t have that now, can we? You can only cum on your king’s cock.” He palms his cock before taking a hold of it and guiding it towards your now wet cunt. He rubbed it against your shimmering folds until your hands moved towards his abdomen, eyes pleading him to stop. “Please, don’t do this. I’m begging you…” Desperate for him to stop his actions, your eyes started to tear up and you saw him clenching his jaw before moving away from your body.

You breathed out a sigh of relief only to yelp in surprise as your body got turned around, your chest pressed against the white snow and hands restrained onto the small of your back as his body was back on top of yours. He presses a kiss on your cheek before shushing you when you cried at the feeling of his cock rubbing on your slit. “Shh… It’ll be quick.” He presses a kiss on your head before a hand covered your mouth. You let out a piercing scream when you felt his huge member penetrating inside your cunt at an unforgiving speed. He stopped halfway, telling you to breathe and wiping tears from your face. “P-please… I-I can’t! I can’t!” You wiggled under his body, stopping when he pushed his cock deeper and bottoming out, earning breathless cries from you. “Fucking tight and warm for me.” He grunted above you, ignoring your cries as he pulled halfway before slamming back in.

He continued penetrating his cock into your cunt until your cries got quieter. He pulled out before flipping you back onto your back, his hand wiping the snow from your chest before slithering his cock back into your cunt slowly. He wiped the tears from your face before thrusting into you slowly. You started getting used to his size but your once virgin cunt was sore from the harsh treatment it got. Your clit was still sensitive from his earlier actions so when he rubbed it once more, your legs shook against his sides and he felt it. He started rubbing your clit faster as his thrusts got faster. You accidentally let out a whine and you saw his eyes lit up and his movements got even faster and his face got filled with determination.

The feeling of something building up inside you returned and you hear him groan above you. “That’s it. Cum for me. Cum for your king.” He grunted as his movements got sloppier. His thrusts got shorter and that’s when you felt it. Your back arched as your legs spasmed in delight around his torso. He leaned down to press a kiss on your lips before pushing his full length inside of you. You whimpered when you felt him twitch inside of you as spurts of warm liquids filled your walls. You were tense against his body but his kiss against yours distracted you from the feeling.

He stayed inside of you until your body started shivering against him. He finally realized how your back is still against the cold snow and he quickly pulled you up to press you against his chest, covering the both of you with your father’s robe. You looked back at the space you were just in and found droplets of blood, reminding you of how he took your chastity away from you. He softly pressed your head against his chest, forcing you to look away from your blood. “It’s over.” He whispers before rubbing your back as you cried against his chest. “You’ll learn to love me.” He kisses the top of your head before carrying you back inside, promising to give you a hot bath.

>>>next part>>>

#dark fic #dark steve rogers x reader #dark fic au #steve rogers au #medieval au #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #dark steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagine #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark smut #dark imagine #dark oneshot #oneshot #30DaysOfChris #30DaysOfChris2020

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corvusravenette · 3 years

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Fan Fiction: Qi Ye

Title: I Thought of You and Yet You Came Based on Original Work: Qi Ye Author: Priest Genre: BL Warning: Gore and Violence Rate: Teen / Young adults Pairing: M/M (Wu Xi + Beiyuan) Chapter: 4 of 5 (... maybe 10. I don’t know. We’ll see...) * This fiction might have a few more chapters extended. I ran away with the plot again. Too much coffee does that to people. I also started a Mafia AU on WenZhou. The first few chapters will probably be up in a couple of weeks. We’ll see... +-+-+-+-+-+- “We… want to see him if he’s alive, his corpse if he’s dead! Someone! Come here!” the Emperor bellowed hysterically, almost dementedly. Wu Xi stared at him fixedly, unblinkingly, apathetically. His decision had been right. There was no way this man could be allowed to know the Beiyuan was still with him. He would not allow it in this lifetime or any other lifetimes. As the imperial doctors and attendants hurried into the room, Wu Xi turned amidst the chaos and left without saying anymore lest his face betrayed his disgust. He knew that this would not be the last time he had to deal with the Rongjia Emperor. +-+-+-+-+-+-

He was not as calculative as Beiyuan but his despicable beloved had taught him in a short span of days how easy it was for the Prince to manipulate and to lie through his teeth. A spark of anger was ignited in his heart. How was he to forgive this betrayal? Did he not understand he was his man? That in this lifetime, it can only be him, to live and die for him, no one else but him? They were supposed to stay together, fight side by side together… die together. Was he the only one who believed in that? Did he think he needed protection against a bunch of barbarians and dimwitted power-hungry courtiers? He was no longer a child! How was he to forgive Beiyuan for throwing him away after leading him on, making him believed that there was no one else in his heart but him, and taking him to bed? How dare he use his own drug on him after making his heart bleed open with a love so beautiful, so painfully obsessed, so wretchedly enraptured by him?! What was he to do now when the love of his life was comatose and bedridden, and on death’s door? Did the damn bastard realize just how much he loved him? That he would have died for him and taken his place on the battlefield? Did he not understand the significance of his own life? Did he not care whether he lived or died? Did he not care about… me…? Can he not see that without him… without him, I cannot breathe? Can he not see.. without him, I do not want to live…? Without him, there is no point in me… living…? Hot tears pricked his eyes and he lowered his gaze to the ground, blinking away rapidly as this small voice whispered his deepest pain and fear, buried in the abyss of his heart. A few of the guards who were stationed outside the inner courtyard escorted him out, struggling to keep up with the Great Shaman’s long strides. He was taller than most Great Qing people, and had an air of powerful but cruel nobility about him, now that he had inherited the Illustrious One’s position as the Great Shaman of Nanjiang. He was paler than most Great Qing people as well, his bone jade skin a stark contrast to his pearl-black eyes and thick eyebrows. Beautiful, yet menacing at the same time. The guards escorting him towards the outer courtyard stole furtive glances at him, their hearts admiring and fearing him. They had barely rested after the battles were over, many of their comrades dead although many more were saved by the timely arrival of the Nanjiang-Great Qing border army as well as the Great Shaman’s own personal troops. The shortage in personnel had forced them out of their resting beds and onto guard duty at the Imperial Palace now that the Emperor had return to the dragon throne despite barely recuperating from their wounds. As their eyes followed the Great Shaman on the long trek to the outer courtyard, they noticed that he was still wearing the very same robes he wore on the battlefield, he had not changed at all, his fingers were still caked in blood and traces of dried blood was visible on his clothes. The image of the Great Shaman swooping into the battlefield like he was the reincarnation of Asura himself was still fresh in their minds: his long saber swinging and slicing through countless Vakurah necks; the bloody crimson arcs that accompanied the flying heads; the horrendous screams that were cut off mid-voice as he slaughtered his way through; the thick aura of death that clung to him as blood splattered on him, soaking him to the skin. They would be awed and haunted by the brutality of the Nanjiang warriors as they stormed the battlefield in all their might that day. They were a different breed of people: taller, more muscular, more unforgiving, more ruthless in their approach than their own soldiers. It was the Great Qing’s blessing to have this fearsome race on their side for once. They were their saviours but they were also a double-edged sword. If that sword had turned on them, they would not stand a chance… like the Battle of Nanjiang, where the Great General Feng was entombed in the grasslands of Nanjiang, along with four thousand of his elite knights. In their hearts, they knew that the Great Qing dynasty owed their lives to these Southern warrior race for turning the tides of this war. Right now, there were thousands of Nanjiang warriors camped outside the city. Despite being a vassal state of Great Qing, their pledge of loyalty was only to the Great Shaman in front of them. They only needed one word from this man, and protector could turn conqueror overnight. The guards shuddered at the thought. The black stallion was making its rounds on the grounds of the outer courtyard, waiting for its master to come back. At the sight of him coming down hurriedly from the stairs, the stallion neighed, shaking its head away from the guard holding on to its reins and pulled towards Wu Xi as though it could sense his tumultuous heart. The familiar sight of the man seemed to have calm the warhorse down, as it butted its head against his face. Wu Xi didn’t smile, but his heart settled a little. He always had an affinity with animals: the sable, the little viper he now kept in a cage lest it got injured in the war, the tigers and wolves he kept back home in Nanjiang… Patting the horse’s neck, Wu Xi saddled it, gave a nod to the saluting guards and galloped back where he came from – back to the large posthouse located quite close to Martial Order Gates, back to his heart, his beloved, back to what he had to do to keep his man safe and sound. Judging from the Emperor’s reactions, he would follow suit soon. Smiling grimly, he thought of Beiyuan. You would be proud of the bastard I’m becoming Beiyuan, you taught me how to do this, what a brilliant teacher you are. Spurring the black beast on faster, he reached the posthouse in record time. It was heavily guarded by his own intimidating warriors and his fearful neighbors steered clear of the area, affording a wide berth of privacy for him and his men, and more importantly, for his beloved. There were curious stares as Wu Xi made his way through the streets. Hawkers and vendors were just setting up their stalls, shops were just opening their doors and about to do their morning sweeps, and inquisitive neighbors had started milling about their compounds. There was still fear of a future unknown, but life needed to go on. The war had ended, and the people picked up where they left off. Like every other war before this, the National Treasury would suffer a large blow: to feed, clothe, weaponize and support an army numbering in the tens of thousands would drain what few luxuries their country had. It didn’t help that years of idleness and corruption made it even worse. Life would be difficult for some ten or twenty more years, more so for peasants and farmers who were already struggling to make a living. It would not be easy to rebuild but they have done it before, and they would survive again. The posthouse was converted from a private mansion with its own four-walled compound. It was a lot smaller than his residence behind Prince Nanning’s own personal residence but large enough for a man of his standing. It was also hastily prepared for the Great Shaman given the circumstances of the war. Helian Yi must’ve had someone run ahead to get it ready. It was within reach of the Imperial Palace but its stone throw’s away vicinity to Martial Order Gates was also tantamount to how much Helian Yi unconsciously wanted to keep the Great Shaman at a certain cordial -if not cold- distance. Regardless the reasons, Wu Xi could only thank Gazh for his lucky star aligning. Its location afforded him a hiding place for Beiyuan, as well as time needed to do what was necessary to accomplish now. With the posthouse coming to view, and the familiar banners of his Nanjiang colors snapping against the wind in this frigid morning, Wu Xi’s heart settled more even if it was just a smidgen. It might not be home, but these familiar colors and the sight of the Nanjiang warriors guarding the entrance six feet apart from each other warmed the cockles of his cold soul. The political tide was going to turn in their favor, he would force Helian Yi into submission or risk a second all-out war. He knew that Helian Yi would feel threatened enough with the Nanjiang encampment just outside of the biggest gates to the city. He only needed to say a word, and they would assemble and attack at a moment’s notice. He was no longer a hostage, and he had been crowned the new leader of his people, he had the power of Nanjiang in his hands, and unlike his Mentor, he was crueler in nature. He would make this proud city blessed by Heaven bend to his will.

Receiving the salute of his men patrolling the entrance and around the compound, Wu Xi got off his stallion, gave it a good pat and a whisper of thanks in his native language before letting one of his guards take the horse away for rounds, water and hay. Ashinlae and Nuahar came out of the main house, greeted him in unison and informed him that a certain visitor had come. Wu Xi listened carefully, the tones of both men had changed – there was a solemn urgency and seriousness in Nuahar’s voice, unlike this morning and Ashinlae, the more hot-headed of the two also seemed to have a change of attitude. Wu Xi nodded. “Lead the way,” he instructed simply. His voice uninflected and unperturbed. His face a cold mask of indifference. He had learned the hard way, the fastest way to remove all traces of emotions from his face. He had his beloved to thank for the forced enlightenment. There was an unyielding bitterness in his heart, and nothing anyone could say would heal this hurt. “Nuahar, have the servants ready hot water and new robes and my veil for me. If my guess is right, within the next hour or so, the Emperor will make his way here. I need to take a bath,” “Immediately, Great Shaman,” Nuahar nodded, excusing himself from the receiving room of the main house. They had brought several of their servants from Nanjiang as well, and though this mansion had their own servants, it was better to have their own people serve them. Those ‘borrowed’ servants were only too glad to make an exit. No one wanted to work with the Poison King. They had heard horror stories over the years from the mouths of the Great Shaman’s previously hired Imperial Tutors. How he would let poisonous critters crawl around freely in his now former residence. How he would experiment with toxins and venoms of vipers and scorpions on himself and his warriors. How he would leave weapons tipped with poison drying out in the open, that if someone had accidentally stepped on it or nicked themselves on it, would suffer a pain unlike no other. No, no one wanted to work with him. They were only too glad to be allowed to leave in one piece. Aside Prince Nanning’s own servants who were familiar with Wu Xi over the last ten years and were comfortable with his eccentricities, everyone else opted to leave the very night they could. Wu Xi turned his unwavering gaze to the man waiting for him. Unlike the night before when he had slunk into the posthouse to remind him of the Emperor’s impending visit, today he had cleaned himself up and had discarded the torn garb he had on yesterday. He no longer hid his face from view, and in its place was the clean, misleadingly trustworthy face of a young man, possibly in his early twenties, maybe older than Wu Xi by a couple of years. He was even more good-looking in his imperial guard uniform, his facial features gentle yet unreadable, his frame slender but hiding the forms of a master martial artist, his eyes focused on the Great Shaman yet not betraying any of his own tumultuous inner thoughts. Wu Xi thought to himself, this was a man not to be trifled with, he was a master con artist, a master of disguise, an assassin working in the dark for the Emperor. A blind, unwavering loyal follower. Wu Xi could not fault the man, he could not fault a man for his loyalty, no matter how misplaced he believed it was. If it was another lifetime, he would welcome this man as a friend. Beiyuan and himself had good affinity right from the start, Wu Xi lamented, two peas in a masquerading pod. “Master Zhou, are we ready?” Wu Xi questioned, a nod and a frank remark all in one in a manner of greeting. He was not known for beating about the bush. He had no patience for mere trivialities. He hit the mark immediately. “We are. Come away, Da Wu,” Zhou Zishu replied. His heart the lightest it had been in so many years of toiling about in the dark in the name of the Emperor, his hands never recovering from its bloody stains. He led the way to an opposite exit from where Nuahar had left. The posthouse had several main rooms, and several smaller ones – usually reserved for the lower family or the concubine family. Zhou Zishu explained that he had Ashinlae locate the remotest room in the posthouse, preferably an inner chamber and they had helped him move the Prince there. It was done quickly and with as little hassle as possible, only keeping the bare necessities in the room. They came up to an unassuming door after what seemed like a maze of steps, twists and turns. Zhou Zishu knocked thrice and the door opened to a darkened room. Ping An stuck his head out and saw who it was, stepping to the side to let them in. It was akin to a treatment room: clean, sterile, practical. Wu Xi was greeted with the sight of Beiyuan sleeping on the bed, a medicine table by its side, and several bottles of his personal concoctions arranged on it by labels. There was also a small medicinal stove in one corner, and an unpleasant smell was currently wafting from it.

“Beiyuan…” Wu Xi whispered softly, lost in himself for a moment as he approached the sleeping Prince. His features soften as he watched Beiyuan’s serene face. He sat on the bed, the thin mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and took Beiyuan’s wrist in his hand. Checking his pulse, he nodded and stood to lift the cover of the brewing pot in the corner. He took the ladle on the side and slowly stirred the contents of the pot, scrutinizing its color and smell. Lifting the ladle to his lips, he took a small sip and frowned from the biting bitterness. Turning his head to Ping An, he instructed in clipped tones to feed Beiyuan one bowl of the medicine in approximately half a shichen. “Where’s the corpse?” Wu Xi asked Zhou Zishu curtly, earning him a reflexive shudder from Ping An who knew why the Captain of the Imperial Guards was here for. “Da Wu, are you alright?” Ashinlae asked worriedly, his eyes staring at the black stains on the Great Shaman’s lips. He knew Nuahar had added Manchurian scorpion venom to the concoction, “Is… is the remedy working?” “The poison is reacting well with the herbs,” was all the answer Ashinlae was going to get from him before Wu Xi stepped out of the room with Zhou Zishu in the lead. It was enough for Ashinlae to believe him. Ping An on the other hand looked up sharply but the warrior warned him to stand down with one look. “Trust our Great Shaman, I know you are worried for the Prince, but you have seen how strong his medicines are. He will save your Prince. It isn’t a choice for him,” With that said, Ashinlae closed the door behind him and ran to catch up with his leader. Ping An stood staring at the closed door long after it was shut, shaking in his boots as he turned trembling gazes over to the insignificant pot brewing quietly in the corner on the stove. Poison? He was going to feed the Prince… poison? He turned his eyes back to the shut door and nodded vigorously, steeling his resolve. If poison would revive the comatose Prince, he would pour all the poison in the world into his mouth. He was sure of it. He had to be sure of it. He had to trust the Great Shaman. Wu Xi followed Zhou Zishu back to his own compound, noting that the doors were shut tightly and a few of his Nanjiang guards were stationed there. It was quite heavily guarded. Voicing their salutes, they stepped aside to let their leader in. Wu Xi cracked opened the door and he immediately had cause to pause in his steps. He recognized the man lying down on the bed but he was clearly also, very dead. Finally gaining his senses, Wu Xi stepped in, and walked closer to inspect the man’s body. He had similar wounds to Beiyuan, a long deep gash from shoulder to abdomen, a similar physique to his beloved as well: tall, slender and lean. If he had not been lovingly intimate with Beiyuan, he would easily have mistaken him for his Prince as well. The similarity was too striking. As morbid as it sounded, this would work in his favor. “Master Zhou, are you sure?” Wu Xi probed out of courtesy. “He’s…” “Yes. It’s what I should do. He would’ve agreed as well, I know he would. It would be just like him. He had a fondness for the Prince, and we’ve shared many a jar of wines together,” Zhou Zishu replied, “Let him take the Prince’s place,” Both of them stood by the bed, a heavy grief in the air as they looked upon the young man who had a future so bright but was taken too soon from them. “Rest well, dearest shidi,” Zhou Zishu whispered. His hand caressing Liang JiuXiao’s pale face, his lower lip trembled, his face breaking into a rare sliver of emotion as a tear fell from his lashes. Even in death this child always seemed like he was smiling, he thought fondly as his heart contracted painfully from his sorrow. Wu Xi bowed his head in a reverent prayer to his Almighty Gazh, closing his eyes and entering a semi-trance like state. He prayed that this young man who – even in death would serve his final act of goodness – that his next reincarnation be a happier, more fulfilling one. Wu Xi casted his prayers into the heavens, and just as he opened his eyes, a slight breeze floated in from the open window, carrying with it the telltale scent of peach blossoms. He nodded to himself, as though it was a sign from the heavens. “Go in peace little brother, may we meet again in the next lifetime. Let us be friends once again then,”. To be continued. +-+-+-+-+-

Click here for previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4]

#qi ye #fan fiction #jing beiyuan #wu xi #xiyuan #zhou zishu #lord seventh #priest #I thought of you and yet you came

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asklotarasarrin · 3 years

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Headcanons

Lotara is the only person who can make Angron happy, feel love, at peace and even use his psychic empathy on without the nails causing damage (when a daemon prince he can't use his empathy and the rest are diluted, yet are still there.) Ivar Tobin is like a father to Lotara. Kharn and Angron both fear and love Lotara and they are the only threesome khorne is willing to accept (foursome if you count the conqueror) Lotara is angry enough to beat Angron in an arm wrestle, even if her arm breaks (even when Angron is a twenty foot crimson murderdaemon) Lotara Sarrin is fused to the conqueror, leaving her with two personalities, her usual one and the machine spirit (despite this, she doesn't look a day over 47, and not a sign of physical decay. That and her body now heals whatever wounds she receives) She and Angron have done (awful and or drunk) karaoke

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//I dig most of this! I'd alter it to say she's one of the few, if not the only, he allows himself to feel happiness/love/peace, and use his abilities on- its a tremendous show of trust and vulnerability for him, and not something he is quick to share.

I like the comment on the daemon prince+his powers angle, I'll have to muse on that for awhile.

Tobin is a chill dude! not my cup of tea as I dont see Lotara really leaning on anyone in a father/daughter sort of way(given her dysfunctional relationship with her biofather), but I confess I haven't given him a lot of thought.

The whole fear her angle is such a popular fanon in the community and from a silly ridiculous angle I get the appeal, but in all seriousness I'm more inclined to see them fear her rejection at most. Fear isn't really in their lexicon. Both Angron and Kharn very clearly respect her deeply; its hard for me to reconcile respect and fear. It's a prime OT3 I agree lol.

Now this is outright crackish! lol Lotara has her temper but she's not out of control, and certainly not superhuman enough to beat a primarch in an arm wrestling match!

I do love the fusion Conqueror!Lotara angle and have an AU for that! I do need to draw that more. The Conqueror's personality is an interesting thing to explore.

I could see Angron being into singing! Pretty sure he and the other slaves canonically did sing slave songs. Lotara probably could be coaxed into it eventually too.

#submission

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kbstories · 4 years

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Entangled

en·tan·gled (adj.) Twisted together; interconnected.

Eustass Kidd joins the Flying Six. The Kidd Pirates go to war.

(Or: Welcome to the worst timeline.)

Tags: Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, References to Brainwashing, Rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort (It’s a solid 80% hurt you have been warned)

Set in Wano, Act Three. Spoiler warning for all of Wano. This is an AU where Kidd is imprisoned on Onigashima and Killer doesn’t eat SMILE.

Content warning for some torture, some blood and references to brainwashing.

***

They’re dead, they said.

Wiping blood from his mouth, Kidd had laughed. “My crew? Dying to cock-faced cunts like you? Never.”

They fought to get to you and they died, they said as cruel hands dug into Kidd’s hair and put him under, over and over.

“They didn’t”, Kidd bit back. “They’re alive”, words fractured by the water in his throat, his lungs. Again – they will come – and again – they’re fine – and again – they’ll come for me. By then he couldn’t catch enough breath to speak but it was there, conviction burning bright in his chest.

They said, he’s dead, and even though his eyes could barely see and his ears were ringing, Kidd recognized blue and white and Killer. Kidd’s veins ached with whatever they pumped into him, his brain struggling to tell truth from lie, dream from reality.

The mask is there, real. The seams Kidd worked a full day and night on to get them just right, cracked apart and caked with blood where Killer’s temple would be–

They’re dead, they say and Eustass Kidd’s world shatters apart.

***

The Victoria Punk strains against the raging of the sea, waves mighty as mountains crashing against her skull and bursting into a thousand pieces. Killer doesn’t turn his head away from the spray, lets the ocean sting every inch of exposed skin.

Under his mask, his eyes stare straight into Onigashima’s soulless gaze.

“Hey, you there! Spikey’s friend!”

Strawhat’s voice rings true through the winds and the rain. Killer keeps his arms crossed and nods, the gesture over-articulated to carry despite the storm. “Stick to the plan, Strawhat! We’ll catch up to you on the other side!”

A smile and a thumbs-up from Strawhat to his right, a sardonic laugh from Law to his left. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for an optimist, Massacre Soldier.”

All Killer gives him is the bird. Kidd would’ve laughed at that, he thinks.

Wire is at the helm, hands steadfast and solid. “Keep course”, Killer tells him as he hops down on deck. “There’s a spot at the bottom of the bay. The Punk should be safe there.” Heat flanks him as the rest of the crew gathers, every face around him retaining that grim sort of tenacity that carried them through the past month.

There’s exhaustion there too, so keen Killer can sense it: None of them can quite shake that phantom presence permeating the Punk, the constellation of their very being-together fundamentally incomplete.

To sail into battle without Kidd is… wrong, inconceivable, almost. Killer has endured all magnitudes of that feeling while they scoured every corner of Wano Country in search for that element that will make them whole again, that unique gravitational pull that makes their individual parts click into each other like carefully-crafted machinery.

(It doesn’t get easier, being without him. Missing him. Killer can’t tell why he ever expected it to.)

“Stay low”, Killer reminds his crewmates, his voice as steady as it’s been since this nightmare started. “Find the Flying Six, that’s our priority. We have to get to Kidd before the raid starts, or things will get messy.”

For years, Killer’s mask has been a comfort; the immediate “Aye, Captain” he gets in return makes him wince where the crew can’t see it. It’s a necessity, for them to remain in the dark about his weakness – about the visceral fear that shot through Killer when he realized Kidd is gone and all eyes fell on him to make the next step.

(This has been a possibility since the very beginning yet Killer never expected to live long enough for it to become reality. Always together, even in death, that was the plan.)

From the moment their boots touch land, all Killer can think of is Kidd. Find Kidd, save Kidd, a near-obsessive mantra playing in his head on an endless loop as they leave the Punk behind.

For weeks he lived as Kamazo the Manslayer, every scrap of intel extracted in crimson splatters under moonlit skies. Alliances made and information combined for one purpose alone, and it’s worth it to pass by hordes of drunks and people-soon-to-be-drunks unnoticed. Every step the Kidd Pirates make on Onigashima is accounted for, their approach methodical sans the perpetual chaos Kidd’s mere existence brings.

Killer hates how easy it is, to become something other than themselves. There is no time to waste on regret, not here. They have to keep going.

Finally: There is the fortress, there are the Flying Six – and among them, a flash of red Killer would recognize anywhere, anytime. His vision narrows down to the shape of Kidd perched on the parapet, dressed black-on-black like the rest of them, and a murmur goes through the crew behind him. By some animal instinct, Kidd’s head turns and he stares right at them, too.

And for the first time in a month Killer inhales and feels his lungs unfold, his chest swell with a full breath. Kidd is there. He’s right there, and Killer’s too far away to pick up any details but Kidd is alive and now he knows they’re here, too. All that’s left is to get him out of here and regroup and–

“Soldier, watch out!”

–the shout is almost drowned out by Killer’s instincts. He tears his scythes up in the last second to deflect the little bits of something raining down on them. Shrapnel, the ground littered with it in moments.

What the…?

The thunderclap of Conqueror’s Haki precedes a furious roar he has heard a hundred times, a hundred battles over. Killer catches sight of Kidd, and how scrap gathers and swirls around him, the eye of a silver-tinged hurricane about to hit, and his mind stalls as that murderous glare locks on him.

Then Kidd is upon them.

Metal screeches against metal, the air turning sharp and heavy with Kidd’s will as his fists clash against Killer’s scythes. There’s not a shred of hesitance to the strike: A fraction of a second is all Killer gets to seek out Kidd’s eyes, glowing with the sparks exploding in all directions between them, and Killer’s gut drops at the cold fury he finds there.

That, and bloodlust so strong he can taste it. Oh fuck.

The force of the attack has Killer’s heels skidding back a few feet – motherfucker, Kidd isn’t holding anything back, is he? – before Kidd’s gaze flicks to the side and he scoffs, a pissed-off tch.

A breath, drawing deep. Flames engulf them both, then, the fire throwing up a wall that gives Killer some room to breathe.

“Heat”, he gasps, and they motion for him to move. Wire isn’t far behind, grabbing Killer by the elbow and dragging him away from the inferno swallowing the person they came to save. “You okay? Killer. Did he–?”

Killer can barely look elsewhere. “No. I’m fine, Wire, let me– What the hell did they do to him?” The last part is little more than a snarl, something venomous and ugly within him stirring. Just a glimpse of it sends Killer’s heart on a warpath, beating hard enough to throb even in his fingertips.

Wire’s expression is drawn, lips a tense line. “I don’t know but this is bad. There’s too much metal on all of us.” Which is by design, to help Kidd get around in a fight and– Fuck. Fuck.

A handful of seconds, that’s all Heat can buy them. Fire can’t hold Kidd, not for long, the man himself forged in heat and pressure just as the metal he commands. Killer grits his teeth to see Kidd emerge from plumes of smoke wiping soot off that same look on his face, lethal and so cold, and he pulls both Heat and Wire behind himself.

“Leave him to me. Take the others and–”

Wire’s hand goes bruise-tight on Killer’s arm. Heat hisses, “Killer–”

“Listen to me. Kaido’s forces will follow him here any minute. Keep them off our backs. Buy us time. Whatever this is, Kidd will fight it. I just have to make him listen.”

Two little words stick to Killer’s tongue, almost making it out of his mouth. Captain’s orders. He doesn’t have to say them, though, the tense sigh Wire exhales an answer in and of itself.

“Fine, just– Stay sharp. Let’s go, Heat.”

“Yeah”, Heat says with a final glance Kidd’s way, and they’re gone. Disappearing from Killer’s limited field of vision, and Killer trusts they will keep the crew safe. It’s not like he can turn and check, not with Kidd stalking ever-closer.

Coming for him, not the crew. Just him. A joyless smile stretches Killer’s lips wide. Good.

“Care to explain what game you’re playing, Kidd? We’re here to take you home.”

Kidd snaps at him, “Shut the fuck up”, teeth big and white against the backdrop of black leather Kidd is wearing. His face is bare for the first time in years, his hair slicked back like he couldn’t give any less of a damn how it looks. Killer’s gaze falls on the symbol of the Beast Pirates on the thick belts crossing over his chest and his heart lurches, skips out of rhythm–

“I don’t care who you are. I’ll fucking kill you for wearing that mask.”

Killer stares.

“Who I…? The mask is mine. It’s mine, Kidd, you made it for me. I’m–”

Oh shit, the earth itself shakes from the pulse of magnetism Kidd draws in every last bit of metal with, Killer’s arms threatening to snap out of their sockets as his scythes are pulled in, too. “Don’t you dare”, the words are a growl more than anything. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name”, and the pressure drops to be replaced by brute physical force as Kidd lunges.

Killer doesn’t stand a chance against Kidd, he knows that. There’s his Devil Fruit, his natural strength, his skill with damn-near every weapon he’s collected – ever since he unlocked the Haki to match, Kidd has shrugged off any and all limits imposed on him. Killer knows what Kidd can do, knows his body better than his own, some days, knows every emotion that flashes in that rust-red gaze of his.

And, with Kidd hellbent on ripping him apart, Killer knows he’s but one misstep away from a very violent death.

Countless times they’ve fought yet this is an entirely different beast: The only advantage Killer has is speed, and even that is rendered meaningless in the face of Kidd’s powers turning the metal on his body into anchors, his wrists and neck aching trying to withstand that particular gravity. Time and time again they collide, a spray of sparks and panted breath as Killer stares into the hate-filled eyes of the man he loves and doesn’t back down.

As he tells him, “It’s me, Killer, it’s me, I came back for you”, and Kidd snarls, beyond words.

Something has to give and for a moment there, Killer thinks it might not be him. Kidd is panting, growing pale and covered in sweat. This close, Killer can see the fresh wounds left to scar, dotting his chest with sickening precision, and the mottled bruises blooming on his neck, right over his pulse point.

Whatever they put him through, it’s recent enough for Kidd to look like he’s on the verge of collapse once he’s burned through his rage, and Killer despises himself for drawing hope from that.

Then Kidd stumbles, Killer hesitates – and Kidd nails him in the side, a punch too swift for Killer to block, and the taste of copper spills on Killer’s tongue as he feels his ribs give before he twists. The second fist is inches from connecting when Killer slips his hand out of the metal guard slowing him down and elbows Kidd in the face, stomach turning at the immediate gush of blood that clearly spells broken nose.

They fall apart, Killer holding the scratched-and-bruised mess of his midriff and Kidd groaning with his face tucked into his elbow. Struggling to breathe through the pain, Killer fumbles for his second scythe, throwing it to the side where it lands with a dull thud, unseen. Kidd is staring at him, mouth open and painted crimson.

Then Killer’s fingers hook into the back of his mask and he pulls it off, the world suddenly too-bright, too-loud, overwhelming – it all pales against the fear choking him, smothering any ounce of reason Killer clung to without Kidd there to guide him.

“Kidd, it’s me”, he says, the words small between them, on the brink of vanishing altogether. Well and truly lost, for the first time since they met. “Your partner. Please. I don’t know what to do. Please come back to me.”

And Kidd– He staggers towards him, like he can’t help it. “You’re dead”, he whispers, helplessly hoarse. “You died. You’re dead, Kil.”

Killer’s eyes sting as tears well up; he bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. Thinks, oh, and his mind puts together the puzzle pieces even if all he feels is his heart break.

“I’m right here. Right here, Kidd.”

Step by step Kidd’s fists lose their substance, metal falling to the ground in chunks and pieces and loose gears. Kidd asks, “…Killer?”, and it sounds so painfully uncertain, so threadbare and fragile that Killer throws caution to the wind.

Kidd’s knees give the moment Killer reaches for him. He doesn’t manage to catch the fall but it doesn’t matter, the feeling of Kidd’s arm sliding around his neck like breaking the water’s surface, like coming home at long last. His stump is left bare, bandaged and sore-looking, lacking the mechanics that have become Kidd as much any other part of him. Killer holds that shoulder before he does anything else, the tension there beyond unbearable to watch.

“Killer”, Kidd rasps, and Killer kneels so he doesn’t have to strain himself so much. “K-Kil, fuck, I didn’t– I thought–”

Half-realized words turning to heaving gasps, and Killer wraps himself around him as his shirt grows wet where Kidd’s head is tucked against his neck, equal parts blood and tears with how fucked up Kidd’s nose is. Murmurs against his hair, “It’s okay”, rubs a hand up and down the groove of his spine.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re all here, Kidd. Not leaving you behind, ever, got it?”

It’s there, with Kidd in his arms, that Killer becomes aware of their surroundings once more: There’s distant cannon fire, and battlecries cut short; the cracking of rifles and ringing of blades being drawn and crossed; bit by bit, the world reshapes itself into the beginnings of a war around them. The first thing Killer sees is a loose circle of backs turned towards them. Dead ahead, the signature woosh of Heat’s breath-turned-fire illuminates the silhouette of each and every member of their crew fighting tooth and nail to uphold the perimeter.

Closest to them, Wire’s trident blurs with motion as he smashes a volley of arrows out of the air, aimed directly at Kidd’s vulnerable back. A glance over his shoulder, and Wire’s eyes widen as they meet Killer’s.

Properly catching his gaze, for the very first time. Killer nods at him, mouths, we gotta get outta here. Wire reads his lips and smiles, unwavering.

Kidd is stirring as well, eyes red-rimmed and weirdly naked without the heavy black around them. He wipes at the blood that hasn’t quite stopped dripping down his chin before he looks up. Stares at Killer like he can’t quite believe he’s there, and then:

“Shit. Fuck, Killer, your mask”, Kidd mumbles urgently, an exhausted motion of his hand pulling closer the scattered remnants of their fight. “Where’s– Ah.”

And something in Killer breaks a little more at the gentleness with which Kidd handles his mask, his fingers unsteady as they wipe dirt and blood off the blue-white stripes before offering it to Killer, those red eyes tender with unspoken emotion.

Kidd doesn’t do apologies, mostly because there aren’t many actions he deems truly reprehensible, but... If apologies were Kidd’s thing this would be it.

Killer exhales a soft breath and presses a kiss to the line between Kidd’s shaved brows. “C’mon”, he says, and he hides his face before hoisting Kidd up to his feet, a breath shuddering out of him as his ribs shift in his chest. Kidd’s hand brushes over the furrows he left on Killer’s skin, frown deepening yet he doesn’t speak.

Piece by piece, they put themselves back together until they’re Eustass ‘Captain’ Kidd and Massacre Soldier Killer once more. There is hell to pay, a war to win and an Emperor to kill – when Kidd steps forward to rejoin their crew, he doesn’t waver and neither does Killer, following close behind.

#one piece #eustass kid #killer one piece #kidkiller #one piece fanfiction #fanfiction #hi someone please take them off my hands all i do is make them suffer #this fic is also on ao3!!#my stuff #one piece spoilers #op spoilers #tagging just in case!

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waltzofthewifi · 4 years

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She-ra AU where Catra and Scorpia stay in the Crimson Wasteland, and Catra stays “boss Catra”

Overtime, she becomes the respected leader of the wasteland, though the wasteland still says lawless. Scorpia is her second-in-command. After a while, neither even think about going back to the horde

Meanwhile, with Entrapta to distract him and no second in command to push him, Hordak Just kinda becomes an evil scientist and less of a conqueror.

They’re all still evil, they just stay in their areas.

And then the Princess Prom comes along ten years later, and Catra is surprised to see she’s been raised to the status of “Princess Catra of the Crimson Wasteland”. Entrapta brings Hordak as a plus one.

Adora almost has heart attack, but the prom goes off smoothly - well, almost. Catra has a band crash the party to play Crimson Wasteland music, and Seahawk sets the place on fire, but other than that, it’s all good

#spop #she ra #catra #scorpia #hordak #entrapta

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opal-owl-flight · 2 years

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Hiii hi. Yes, new Owl House ep dropped and me and a friend of mine made an au. Meet Mapolor, and the local cosmic jester who’s in mirror jail!

Under readmore bc its many thoughts

Mapo’s goals...

Halcandra is not kind to practitioners of magic. If they find one, theyre immediately banished. Mapo here has been interested in magic for a long time, and practiced it in secret until he was found out. He was witch hunted from young age. All hes known is how to run.

He wants to belong so bad.

But he cant find any safe space…

See, even the most “innocent” Halcandran has something against magic users. Stereotypes, all that. I think theyre afraid of forces they cant understand; choosing to rely on tech instead.

I wonder, are there other magic users…?

Maybe Mapo found himself with them. Finally found a place he can belong to… until the “coven” was found and he its sole survivor. (Again with him being the last survivor of something…)

Seeing his found family get banished…made him vengeful.

If he cannot find a safe space for himself and others like him. He is going to make it himself.

Thus enters the thought of “cleansing” Halcandra. Cleanse it of its technological blight, restore magic to its rightful place.

He finds a certain mirror around this time…heard it whispering, heard it promise him everything he desired.

With the power of the being in the mirror, he manages to make Halcandra destroy itself. Probably made the Halcandrans build machine that wiped their entire race from existence, save for Mapo. After the way it treated him…this is what he thought was the best way to deal with his anger. He has gotten the vengeance he sought, and he does not regret it.

But he wanted to do more. Hes aware of the reaches of Halcandra’s influence.

He decides to become the galaxy’s savior, cleansing it of the tech-Halcandran’s influence (a COMPLETE reversal of what regular Mags does!). He renames himself Mapolor; “Hope of Paradise”.

As he does this, he found communities on every planet he “cleanses”.

“A community, to keep magic-users safe. Give them sanctuary.

Under my watchful eye… I will make sure that the planet they inhabit is never corrupted by technology again.”

He sees tech as a blight; how dare a single mortal or society mess with the will of the universe/nature like so?

Those communities are connected to him. Hes keeping watch over them. Protecting them in his own twisted way.

He truly believes hes doing good…what hes doing instead is preventing societies from ever advancing.

Hes very powerful magic-wise. He can defend himself from any magic attack. Tech could take him down. But by keeping most of the galaxy away from it…well. Hes unbeatable.

Basically hes done a Susie and is colonizing planets “for their own good”, and “bring them closer to the forces that be, their natural state”

From what Ive described, it seems that Mapo has suppressed a lot of his desire for friends. He has no intent on freeing Marx, who’s very lonely in his mirror jail and just wants to play….

Bc he believes he already found the friends he needed.

He thinks the leaders of those communities he keeps in touch with are his friends. The truth is, many of them want him dead.

“He promised paradise. He only brought us hell. Mapolor? More like Mafolor!!”

Does he actually care for them? Only a select few. The others are just tools. Pawns for his conquest.

By the way, he never finds the Lor here. He doesnt care to. He has Landia instead :) the Halcandrans were not kind to the big scary dragon with the powerful magical artifact (WHO WAS PROTECTING THEM). They were building a tech replacement. It pissed Landia off so much that she decided to join Mapolor’s conquest out of her own volition.

Tldr EVIL EVIL WIZARD WITH A DRAGON STEED AND A COSMIC JESTER IN MIRROR JAIL. HALCANDRA DONE FUCKED UP WITH HOW IT TREATED HIM AND THE ENTIRE GALAXY IS IN JEOPARDY.

#kirby #kirby fanart #kirby au #magolor #marx #opal owl’s nest #crimson conqueror au #by the way he still hates Susie here bc she runs a robotics company #shes probably good here. helping the colonized planets get by by providing tech assistance #Mapo is just so SO strict with what can and cannot be done or developed…#surprise?? Susie is good in this au?????#also also! design note…hes hiding the fact that hes a Halcandran #bc he HATES that part of him. he hates being a part of an accursed race

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thecrimsonmonster · 3 years

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Verses and AUs

(LINKS IN PROGRESS!)

Verses

v: the crimson monster --- The default for my Kimbley, which takes place after the events of the anime and into Conqueror of Shamballa. Please read THIS for further information.

v: the dwelling monster --- Events from Kimbley being freed from Lab 5 to his time staying in the Devil’s Nest.

v: the caged monster --- After Ishbal and into his time in Prison 2.

v: the uniformed monster --- During his time in the military, into Ishbal.

v: the liberated monster --- After his release from juvenile detention and before joining the military.

v: the little monster --- Kimbley’s childhood and into his stay in juvenile detention.

AUs

au: night surgeon --- Modern Black Market AU. Information HERE.

au: venit satana --- Antichrist AU. Information HERE.

au: the other side --- The Kimbley that exists on the Other Side of the Gate. Information HERE.

au: black wings --- Crow Chimera AU. Information HERE.

au: what lies beneath --- Laboratory 5 AU. Information to be added.

au: into the night --- Vampire AU. Information HERE.

au: crimson mist --- Supervillain AU. Information HERE.

au: the united states of utter chaos --- American Gods AU. Information HERE.

au: vault alchemist --- Borderlands AU. Information (temporary) HERE.

au: comes with a price --- Once Upon A Time AU. Information HERE.

au: how could you be so heartless --- Kingdom Hearts AU. Information to be added.

au: the wandering beast --- Mangahood AU. Information HERE.

au: crimson and lotus --- Brother AU with @creepiitus.

au: the killer cabaret --- Modern AU with @hariolor

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reynesofcastamere · 4 years

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Jagged Crowns(2/2)[β]

(A/N:As previously discussed, this is not a continuation , but rather a ‘same scenario, different circumstances’ deal. The primary difference between the two is Darksider!Ahsoka. So yes, this one is going to be NSFW *cough* for various reasons. Also, to reiterate:(since I mentioned this in the tags and not everyone has the time/inclination to read those), I have removed the previous limit and my inbox is open for questions, drabbles and prompts. Keep in mind that sometimes asks do get lost and that it is never my intention to deliberately ignore someone. That being said, warnings for: gore, violence, death, intrusive/manipulative thoughts, possessiveness, bloodplay, powerplay, biting, mentions of exhibitionism kink and...Look, if two people having rough sex directly after battle while there are still dead bodies in the room squicks you out, best to give this a pass. Now, on to the fic! Unbeta’d.)

The Sith are fools. Locking themselves into a cycle of a beast devouring its’ own tail, gorging themselves even as they lose their most vital components. Ahsoka and her Lord are strong, united in purpose and potency, the Dark Side practically leaping to obey their will: As they pull the Emperor off his throne, drag him through the blood and viscera of his loyal protectors, and cleave his decrepit body with their blades until he is so much burnt offal. A fitting sacrifice for his conquerors. Scarcely are their weapons deactivated and holstered before she is upon him, lips and tongues battling fiercely as they negotiate a haphazard path towards their new place of power. Pieces of armour and clothing are nearly torn off in desperate haste until Ahsoka springs upwards. knees pressed against his thighs as he drops back onto the throne. Her hands slide from his shoulders, along his nape, to trace and tug at the base of his posterior horns, a gratifying purr vibrating deep in his chest. She pulls back for a moment, just to bask in the image he makes; The terrible beauty of shadow and flame, crowned with sharpened bone. Now a sovereign in truth, not just appearance. Yet even in this moment of triumph, his ghosts will not be silent. Especially the old slime-snake.Their multitudes are known to each other, the recriminations, the reckless urges, the eternally-unsatisfied needs. And while they cannot remove them entirely the voices can at least be silenced for a time.

Ahsoka presses the pad of her left thumb to one of his horn-tips until it bleeds, then brushes it across his lower lip.His tongue darts out to taste her blood, even as she brings the cut digit to her sternum, tracing a rough copy of the symbol that adorns his own. Through their bond she coaxes his metaphysical hands to join hers in wrapping around the venomous shade’s throat. “He doesn’t get to have you anymore.” She snarls in protective fury, her own gaze infernal with the intensity of it as they choke the monster’s whispers down to nothing. One death is not enough. She will kill every trace of Sidious in her Lord, in the galaxy over and over again until nothing is left. He loves her. For her spirit, her empathy, for being the one who stays when so many others have fallen or abandoned him. She knows this without Maul ever needing to say the words. It is branded in his eyes, on her soul, in every brush of their minds through the Force. She does her best to return the gift of that certainty, the assurance that she is his. There will never be anyone else. Her hips circle and grind against his as his hands sweep down her torso, stopping to squeeze her waist before fingertips hook into the top of her leggings. He eases them down, revealing her by slow degrees until the fabric pools around her calves. She claims his lips in an eager rush, tasting the faint trace of her own blood as she reaches down to press two of his fingertips deep into her soaked channel with her right hand. The other draws him out, anointing his shaft with crimson liquid. They pant in anticipation, trading bites and shuddering, deep moans, pelvises meeting in teasing slides even as their fingers work in frenzied rhythm. “Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“And who am I?”

“My Empress.”

“Yessssss.....” She removes his digits and impales herself on him, effortless and without shame. Ahsoka arches in sheer pleasure as she sinks down to the hilt, kept upright only by the hands that cage her hips. Her current perspective of the room is tilted and stained with carnage, but it is only too easy to envision the near future; Their own guards silent, still, and longing as their rulers writhe and rut together. She knows he can see it too, how the thought makes her gasp and squirm. When she meets Maul’s gaze again, it is molten with obsession and lust. They’ve danced with the thrill of being caught before, though never quite like this. There’s little need to hide or wait now that they can fuck where-and-whenever they please, within reason. Ahsoka’s hips circle as her walls contract, keeping him embedded deep within. There’s a slight ridge near the base that’s absolutely maddening when it rubs against her clit, she has to fight not to press frantically against it. She wants this to last, after all. Maul has other ideas, though, one hand crushing her against his front as the other digs into her backside. He’s biting repeatedly at her throat, leaving a messy collar of bruises and leaking cuts behind, growling like a feral beast. She claws at him in turn, hissing and keening. It’s too much and still not enough until- “Come.” She cannot refuse the command, rough and possessive as it is; Dragging him over the edge with her and crying out in sharp ecstasy. But he’s not done, discarding her leggings and boots before turning them. Her spine is pressed against the back of the throne with him kneeling between her thighs, legs firmly wrapped around his hips. He is still hard, twitching and slick from their first climax as he re-enters her slowly. She welcomes the burn of the intrusion, the struggle of her overstimulated nerves adjusting to his girth.

He leads her on with shallow plunges, little nips of his teeth to her lekku. It’s deeply frustrating because he knows what she wants, yet when she tries to direct his mouth elsewhere he traps her wrists in one hand and pins them above her head. “You can do better than this.” Ahsoka points out, wriggling to try and get more friction, more speed, more anything to no avail. “Not until you beg.” Maul purrs, so close that he might as well be kissing her, eyes and tone heavy with promise. One that he, of course, doesn’t follow through on. Her heels press into his lower spine in retaliation, watching his eyelids flicker as his breath sibilates between his teeth. “You really think you can wait that long?” She hums, smiling as his hips buck in instinctive reaction. It is all a game to them. She could break free or stop him at any time, but she doesn’t care to. And he desires her resistance just as much as her submission. “Absolutely.” He asserts in a low growl, claiming her mouth with his. They lose themselves in this for some time: Her attempting to spur on his aggression while he toys with her lekku, neck, and breasts.

Finally, she decides to have some mercy on him. “Master, please.” Ahsoka sobs, sounding half-crazed and hoarse. “Harder.” She arches her body and ripples her core in a desperate plea. “I need you to break me.” It is enough to unleash the primal creature that lurks beneath his skin, and she cries out when he slams into her at last. Maul is all but violating her with each searing, forceful thrust and all she can do is plead for him to keep going.

An exchange of yes, more, please, mine, yours, always falls from their lips, teeth bared in pleasured grimaces. She loses herself in him, vision blinking between his face and his own view of her. Their tangled thoughts are no less scintillating, fragmented and chaotic as they are. But for a moment, there is a clear vision: An Empire free of the corrupt, the grasping, and the fearful. A galaxy at peace, its Emperor and Empress with heirs both of their blood and taken in by choice. It is beautiful, and she knows with every fibre of her being that they can make it a reality before it splinters into a dazzling ring of coloured light and she wails...

He is still pounding into her, triggering aftershocks that are rapidly building towards another climax.The throne is a mess beneath them, essence pooling underneath her backside even as their joining only grows more hurried and violent. Her hands are free again, nails raking his back, breath escaping in faint whines and keens while he growls and pants in off-key rhythm. Her cunt is in absolute agony from being forced to take this savage treatment so soon after release, yet she cannot bring herself to stop or even slow down. So close...He bites directly over where she had left a crude approximation of his markings earlier, and she whites out in pain-laced bliss as he roars. Ahsoka gulps down air when she comes back to herself, feeling warm wetness and hard muscle underneath her fingertips. She doesn’t need to look to know that she’s shredded his back to ribbons again. They’re both going to need bacta patches pretty soon, if only to prevent infection. Getting their clothes back on wouldn’t hurt either. But not just yet. Not while Maul is kissing her so very softly, approval radiating in the Dark Side and his thoughts. Because she loves him, she will give him this, and all of her, forever. (A/N: This...took a bit longer to type than I initially planned. Curse you, writer’s block. Going to try and get the next installation of my main series or the Mando!AU up next, though as usual I make no definite guarantees on that. The muse is veeeeery fickle at times. Cheers, everyone!)

#maulsoka #NS.FW #come to the dark side we have smut #lol sorry couldn't resist the joke

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reyloisblessed · 5 years

Text

Fic Recs List #4

** MIND THE TAGS FOR SOME OF THESE!

IN CANON / CANON DIVERGENT

Broken Accidental Stars by @thisgarbagepicker // During the standoff on the bridge at Starkiller Base, Kylo Ren yields to the light within him and accepts Han’s plea to leave with him, no questions asked. With the map to Luke Skywalker secured, the Resistance hastily relocates to an island planet in the Outer Rim, spurred by unsettling intel about recent First Order developments in tracking technology. Meanwhile, Rey—untrained and stronger than she knows—grapples with the awakening of her power in the Force and struggles to determine where her path must lead. As uncertainty and strange dreams compel her to seek Kylo’s help, one thing becomes clear to them both: Whatever passed between them in the interrogation room was only a beginning, and the will of the Force is rarely easily understood . . .

Dawn of Hope by @rena-san // Ben looked at the two women he would tear the galaxy apart for. One for love. One for family. "Choose" hissed the voice. He felt his limbs go numb, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. "Choose, or they both die." Ben's breathing hitched. How had it come to this?

FANTASY AU

Annointed by @waterlilyrose // The Seven Kingdoms have finally been freed of the Mad King. And the Skywalker descendant Kylo Ren is the obvious heir of the Throne. Rey is beloved in the North and even holds the title of Queen with some families. For peace in Westeros, a marriage between the two makes sound political sense. If the two opponents find each other captivating in the process... all the better. A Reylo Game of Thrones Crossover.

come to my cage, little lover by @kylotrashforever // “Come here, Beta.”Every step is difficult— as if her legs are made of stone themselves. He motions that she sit behind him, and she remains there on her knees for several seconds as she wonders what he might want.“Your hands. Use them.” [In which Rey is brought to the house of the infamous warlord, Kylo Ren, to serve his every need. Omegas are not allowed. Surely nothing will go wrong.]

MODERN AU

Crimson Lane by @wayofthepathfinder // Rey is an ex-journalism student who was forced to leave university and into prostitution after her parent’s crippling debt falls on her shoulders and the people they owe money to begin targetting her. In desperation, she takes a job at Crimson Lane, a high-end brothel in the city. On her first night, she is booked with the mysterious Kylo Ren, who comes with his own set of rules: No kissing, no touching, no eye contact and no questions. What was supposed to be one night of uncomplicated paid sex, turns into so much more as they work through the dark truths that have bought them to this place. This is an angsty, enemies to lovers story based on two people who are inextricably entwined by a shared past. Despite the gritty brothel setting, this is definitely not a "porn without plot", in fact, it's probably the opposite. There's a lot of layers to the characters and a story that takes time to tell, as well as a dose of mystery, angst and drama. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have writing it.

go i know not whither and fetch i know not what by voicedimplosive // The year is 1994. The Iron Curtain has come down, the oligarchs have begun their rise to power, and Kyril Ren, a powerful member of the infamous crime syndicate Solntsevskaya Bratva, has been given a job: hunt down an estranged uncle who has been snitching to the FBI. Irena, nicknamed Rey by her adoptive father Luke, is a Krav Maga instructor in New York who has finally been able to obtain her original birth certificate from Russia. Turns out she was born in a little village named Vershinino, but if she wants to know more than that… she’s going to have to go there herself.

Nothing Nice to Say by LovesBitca8 // Notorious asshole Ben Solo loses a bet at the office. He must begin every conversation with complementary things to his employees, or else they are not required to respond to him. He hasn't said anything at all to Rey, and she wonders why.

NOT REYLO [FINNROSE]

i wanna burn those clothes by Kyriadamorte // Finn and Rose go back to Canto Bight. She still hates the place. And the clothes. AKA, Finnrose smut in fancy clothes.

SHAMELESS SELF-PROMO

Oathbreaker // Dark A/B/O LotR AU // Kylo Ren is the last surviving member of the Knights of Ren and a loyal protector of King Vadon Snoke, conqueror of the known world and supreme leader of the realms. One night, Snoke’s failing general, Armitage Hux, brings home a gift to placate the ruthless king, a captured elf maiden, but not just any elf; a rare omega. King Snoke is intrigued, though he isn’t the only alpha captivated by this feral maiden. For the first time in years Kylofinds himself questioning his resolve, but most dangerous of all, his loyalty.

> > > OTHER FIC RECS < < <

#reylo #reylo fanfiction #my fic recs

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tomionefinds · 5 years

Note

hello! I’m in the mood for a MONSTER of a fic like something above 30 chapters and just fine character development and I don’t mind dark endings but maybe something with hermione and tom end up together. Sorry for the trouble!

Hey Anon. I got you! Not sure if you’ve already read some of these classic Tomiones, but threw them in all the same. All of these are over 30chapters in length and I threw in a couple in progress that are looking to end with them together. Enjoy! -JD

Somewhere in Time by SerpentInRed

M | Complete | 345k

Sent back in time by a mysterious person and trapped in the past with a missing Dumbledore and an overbearing, charismatic Dark Lord, they had no idea how much they could dabble with time before the world they had known shattered into pieces.

Building a Mystery by StBridgit

M | Complete | 256k

Avoidance of death provides a powerful impetus for Lord Voldemort to use more than one method to stay alive. If the Horcruxes were not his final play, what would happen? Would it be worth the price he will pay? Hermione finds herself out of place and out of time. What will she do when there is nowhere to run? A Tomione pairing that morphs into LV/Hermione. Reviews welcome!

Champion by I M Sterling

M | Complete | 255k

The war is much larger, far longer, and much deeper than they could have imagined: fought on a scale that baffles the limits of human understanding. In such a world, perhaps it isn’t surprising when Hermione Granger is sent back in time to rescue Tom Riddle’s soul before he has the chance to destroy it. Rated M.

Shared Flame by Lady Miya

M | Complete | 311k

It all started when two normally clever individuals both had a really lousy day.

Ultima ratio by Winterblume

M | Complete | 737k

Ultima ratio - the last resort. At last the day of the Final Battle against Lord Voldemort has come. Harry, Ron and Hermione fight bravely against their nemesis - but then something goes wrong. And Hermione finds herself alone in a precarious situation.

Nightmare by provocative envy

M | Complete | 163k

COMPLETE: A broken time turner shouldn’t have sent me back so far. It was unprecedented. Stepping on it-smashing it-nothing should have happened. At most, I should have lost a week. At worst, I should have disappeared altogether. I shouldn’t have traveled back fifty-two years; half a bloody century. This should not have happened. HG/TR.

Serpentine Moves by betagyre

M | Complete | 357k

Medieval Norman Conquest AU. Fourteen years after eloping with a Muggle, Merope Riddle, of an English wizarding noble family, discovers that she and her son are the last of the line, so she petitions for her title and fiefdom back. Meanwhile Lord and Lady Granger are minor nobility who want their daughter taught magic, but Lord Malfoy, appointed by William the Conqueror to rule English wizards, won’t allow an unattached Muggle-born to study alongside young purebloods at Hogwarts. Merope and the Grangers make common cause and betroth their children, thwarting him for now. But war is coming, and a long, dark path lies ahead.

Veal & Venison {Tomione || 1940s/1990s} by Patagonian

Unrated | Complete | 277k

In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to another, in which the ‘bad guy’ becomes ‘good.’ Perhaps it was the cruel mistreatment of Tom Marvolo Riddle as a child, or maybe it was the bloodline of Slytherin’s heir himself that made the boy into the ‘monster’ who cannot be named. Or, perhaps it was simply because he did not know that his heart would beat in such a frenzy, that his cheeks would redden like a crimson rose, and that his normally-calm facade would melt under the simple gaze of the time-travelling heroine. If I were to bet, I’d say it’s the latter. But it matters not why Voldemort could not love, for this is not a story about Voldemort. This is the story of Tom Marvolo Riddle, and how he came into direct conflict and company with the 'brightest witch of her age’ … fifty-years ahead. This is the story of love’s recognition, in which the force does not suddenly develop between two people, but a poignant emotion, different for each individual, is uniquely described to be 'love.’ Maybe Tom Riddle never loved, much like that of Voldemort. However, as one chooses to stubbornly believe, love existed for Tom Marvolo Riddle as long as he chose to believe that he loved Hermione Jean Granger.

Time Changes All Things: NOW Complete! by ssdawning

M | Complete | 224k

Hermione travels back in time to seek revenge on Tom Riddle and he pursues her, while Hermione’s power grows, will her plans change to destroy Riddle? Will Tom change her and the bigger question is…will she like the dark side? Only time will tell.

The Snake Charmer by midnightweeds

M | Complete | 315k

Hermione Granger travels to the past to learn the Dark Lord’s secrets. During her stay, she finds herself in a precarious situation. Will she return to the world she left behind? Or will her stay with Tom Riddle alter her future forever?

The Three Portals by violingrl07

T | Complete | 202k

After the final battle, Hermione is trapped. Then fate sends her much further from home than she could have imagined, into the arms of Tom Riddle. Ambition and fear war with love and integrity as Hermione tries to create a new future for the whole world.

Tearing at the Fabric by You'reABirdOfTheSummer

T | Complete | 120k

An unlikely, yet undoubtedly brilliant trio take on a huge task. When war is over and nobody wins, there is nothing left to do but go back to the beginning and stop the hate which sparked an inferno. AU-time line and plot differences, time travel. Complete.

unsphere the stars by cocoartist

M | Complete | 233k

When you can’t change time, but you can’t go forward, what is left? Hermione learns how to be the protagonist of her own story. [EWE] [Tomione*]

Strange Attractors by Orange et Blue Morality

M | WIP | 366k

Unspeakable Granger wakes up with missing memories in Hogwarts…in 1942. Hermione might not remember much, but she knew that even post-Voldemort, there were many wannabe dark lords she and her friends had to fight against. If she changed the wizarding world, maybe they’d be more prepared against them in the future. But who is that prefect, and why does her mind itch at seeing him?

Aca-demic Arrangements by dulce.de.leche.go

M | WIP | 113k

Modern AU - Primarily Tomione but other pairings will happen (het/slash) - Hermione’s just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world. She took the midnight plane on a journey to LA in order to pursue her dream. What could possibly go wrong? - Not quite a crack!fic. Un-beta’d and rated M for sexual references, situations, and a lot of language. An a cappella story of aca-love.

#Ask tomionefinds #tomione #epic #complete #rated m #happy ending #slow burn #Multichapter #incomplete #fluff #fluff & angst #action #Adventure #hogwarts #time turner/time travel #magical au

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wangaysupes · 5 years

Text

AU Game of Thrones concept

In a Westeros where Rhaegal did not die, and the dragons had the power to transform into humans, here I present closure for the death of our beloved Khaleesi.

—————

It’s always easy to talk of things, the what if’s, or what one would do in a situation- but no one actually knows the exact way one will act when the situation arises. Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons -his mother-, The Unburnt spoke of many situations. All to take her place on the rightful throne built by Dragons for the conqueror with Dragon blood. It was a hard road that led them all to this large city, beautiful in its own right and full of innocents, which brought an understanding to Rhaegal about the reactions of most when it was turned to a city of ash. A mirror of his mother’s pain, vengeance for all she has lost. She is not a mad queen, she was a girl who was forced to grow up far too fast, and heavy lay the crown.

He could still hear the screams of the people, smell the overpowering gagging stench of burnt flesh as he walked in his human form down the streets of the place known as King’s Landing. It was easier when he was far away, under the Dragon’s control, when he couldn’t see the women and children he was setting aflame. It must have been easier for Muña too. She hasn’t walked the streets. The moment she was done, she and Drogon flew away, Rhaegal broke from them and rested just outside the walls watching it all burn before his bronze eyes. What had they done? How could it have possibly been necessary?

The man’s bare foot came down on something, making a snapping sound that reverberated around the empty streets. Looking down, he saw his foot in the place where another should be, attached to the petrified body curled up and clutching something. It looked to be a smaller human frame, one that was holding something just as charred as the rest of its owner. A horse. That’s what it looked like. Rhaegal stepped back immediately, stumbling a few steps as his eyes widened to the horror, it was a mother and her child clinging to one another.

As he further inspected the destruction, he heard the whispers of distant voices, ones no one else could hear. They were a summons. It called to the beast inside Rhaegal, but after all the Dragon has caused, he fought against it. He would answer the summons, but he would do so as a man.

It took time for Rhaegal to make it to the throne room, he’d met his brother outside who spoke about Jon having entered moments before. Drogon said he’d sensed a great conflict in their lost Targaryen. Rhaegal had more of a connection to the man, and as he tuned in to Jon though he was distant, he sensed the same as Drogon but felt something much darker. His brows furrowed at this, as he tried digging deeper to bring clarity to what Jon had brewing and as it slowly began to clear like the fog of morning, he met gazes with his brother. His heart skipped a beat and a terrible knotted feeling filled his gut just as the feeling of a thousand tons of bricks had been dropped onto his chest, as if all of King’s Landing had been thrown onto his shoulders forcing the man to his knees. It was in a split second, he’d felt whole and warm then the next he had been robbed of it, felt as if he’d lost himself.

As Drogon rose, Rhaegal pushed himself numbly up as well then took off for the throne room as Drogon pushed off from the ground. He got there before his brother and felt like the whole ground was shaking under his feet when he’d took in the scene before him. His Muña lay on the ground, motionless, a dagger sticking out of her chest.

“No..” he breathed, gathering the attention of Jon Snow as he stumbled toward the body. White as the ground was, it had already become stained with a deep crimson as blood of the Dragon mixed with the snow. He fell beside her and scooped the woman’s upper body into his arms, what wasn’t held by his arms went limp toward the ground. He was shaking, and his chest felt like it was melting, caving in around his pounding heart. “No!” He roared out, his calm caramel eyes flared up like a fire into the golden amber eyes of the Dragon, brimmed with tears. He cradled her closer, tighter to him enough he heard cracking of the fragile bones.

The wind shifted slightly as he heard the flaps of large wings then the heavy low thud that came from Drogon setting down on the ground. Rhaegal felt his hot breath as he came closer and curiously nudged Muña’s shoulder, but she did not react. Drogon tried again with the same result. She wasn’t going to move, Rhaegal knew it and Drogon did now too. That feeling they had both felt, it was the life leaving her body.

The tears broke free, and Rhaegal had clenched his jaw, teeth gritted as Drogon warningly bared his to Jon. The murderer rightfully cowered. Rhaegal felt Drogon’s emotions just as much as Drogon could feel Rhaegal’s and the crushing grief that welled inside turned to justifiable anger as the two let out a screeching -earthshaking roar. He felt the intensity of the fire within as the Dragon’s fury and despair began to envelope Rhaegal until the man had painstakingly shifted into the Dragon. Daenerys was tucked away carefully in Rhaegal’s curled wing while Drogon melted down what once their ancestors had made, what their mother had been fighting for. The iron throne was obtained through fire, and now through her blood. The iron throne, will fall to no one else.

With the throne nothing more now than a smoldering pile of metals, Rhaegal took a step back as Drogon ever so delicately took up Daenerys in his talon and pushed off with her. Rhaegal snapped in Jon’s direction before he too pushed off to follow after his brother. It was going to be a long journey, taking them back to their ancestral home, where they would properly care for the remains of their mother. As with the bonded Targaryens of the past, Daenerys Stormborn will be cleansed with the Dragon’s fire and her soul immortalized inside the egg of a dragon, one made of stone. It will be so until another worthy to be called the Unburnt, carries Daenerys’ final resting place into a fire and emerge stronger than before. Until then, the time of the Dragons has gone.

#gameofthrones #rhaegal #drogon #khaleesi #daenyres #daenerys targaryen #targaryen #jon snow #game of thrones #death #iron throne

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